


revolutionary janitorial services

by twofrontteethstillcrooked



Series: Les Mis snippetfic [7]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, canon AU, snippetfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 17:23:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4573131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twofrontteethstillcrooked/pseuds/twofrontteethstillcrooked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After three minutes Bossuet started to wonder if Grantaire would ever come out from beneath the table, or if he had found a trap door in the floorboards and tunneled his way out of the cafe. Or if he had died.</p>
            </blockquote>





	revolutionary janitorial services

**Author's Note:**

  * For [clenster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clenster/gifts).



> Recently, [clenster](http://archiveofourown.org/users/clenster/pseuds/clenster) drew and posted [this gorgeous Enjolras](http://clenster.tumblr.com/post/125183879776/a-too-pretty-enjolras). When I reblerged it one of my tags was _#somewhere Grantaire is wiping tears from his eyes and rolling to the floor in a wave of nearly religious ecstasy_ , to which she replied:
> 
> "if grantaire is rolling on the floor then at least he is cleaning it!! see enjolras he is good for something!!!!!" 
> 
> Hence. :)

After three minutes Bossuet started to wonder if Grantaire would ever come out from beneath the table, or if he had found a trap door in the floorboards and tunneled his way out of the cafe. Or if he had died.

Joly looked Quite Concerned about this possibility. "But he has finished a mere half bottle," Joly whispered, more harshly than he had perhaps intended. "Hardly enough to put him to sleep, much less float him away to his maker." Joly pushed back from the table slowly, his chair making a low scrape that did not interfere with the continuous ring of Courfeyrac and Enjolras's voices as they spoke near the door to those in attendance.

Bossuet's chair was wedged between a table leg, Bahorel's chair at the nearest table to one side, and one leg of Prouvaire's table on the other. Bossuet felt confident any effort on his part to look under their table, as Joly was attempting, would result in something calamitous: cracked skulls at worst, half-consumed wine spilt and glass shards winging through the air at best. Could old wooden chairs spontaneously burst into flame? Having few of Combeferre's scientific inclinations, he did not want to test the idea.

Something grabbed his ankle. He yelped and kicked, and the ankle grabber yelped in echo. This coincided, thankfully, with a rousing pronouncement from Enjolras which had caused the majority in the room to stand and cheer, and so when Bossuet also stood, knocking into Bahorel, the brief scuttling chaos added to the sense of insurgent enthusiasm.

By the time Bossuet had apologized and patted Bahorel reassuringly -- Bahorel didn't seem the slightest put out, which Bossuet appreciated -- Joly was helping pull Grantaire out from beneath the other side of the table. Joly also brushed off Grantaire's waistcoat, which was smeared with dust, and then began to wheeze as a small cloud rose up around them.

"We thought you were dead," Joly accused Grantaire between gasps.

"I might've been, having been kicked in the head," Grantaire said, waving his hand to disperse some of the dust.

"Sorry," Bossuet said, though in truth he did not feel entirely sympathetic to Grantaire's plight -- well, until he saw the faint gray pattern of his own bootprint on Grantaire's chin. Then he felt a little bad about his prior involuntary reaction. Grantaire was smiling, though, and held out a trampled cockade, two-thirds of a torn pamphlet, and a dull black button Bossuet recognized from Feuilly's heaviest coat.

"Seems a poor haul for such a lengthy inspection," Bossuet commented. "The way you dove under there, I was certain you'd dropped actual money or were perhaps being beckoned by earth-bound sirens."

Before Grantaire could respond an odd expression passed over his face, one Bossuet recognized enough to know, without otherwise sensing it, that Enjolras had walked up.

"I trust you're all well this evening," Enjolras said. It was an agreeable statement that in no way sounded like something Enjolras would normally utter. Not that Enjolras was rude, only that he was as unencumbered by pleasantries as any man Bossuet had ever met.

"Never finer," Joly rasped before breaking into a hacking cough. Grantaire slapped him on the back and resolutely did not look at Enjolras.

"Grantaire," Enjolras said, "if I might have a word?"

Nothing in his tone indicated anything was...Bossuet searched for a word...awry, but Enjolras had so rarely addressed Grantaire in public -- therefore anywhere, that Bossuet knew of -- Bossuet felt himself stand up more straightly, felt too Joly perk up from behind his handkerchief. This was, Bossuet knew Joly was thinking, a development.

He moved to the right, Joly moved to the left, and Enjolras stepped closer to Grantaire. And Grantaire did not step backwards, or sidle away slyly, or make any sort of obscene, awkward, or flippant gesture.

From behind Bossuet and Joly the noisy laughter in the room seemed suddenly to rise in both volume and density, and they spun in unison to greet it. Feuilly and Prouvaire were proffering fresh bottles off a tray Louison had left, Courfeyrac was rearranging chairs, Combeferre said, "Come tell me what you think of this revision." Bahorel said something to Joly that made him cough-laugh and then laugh-cough.

When Bossuet turned back to the corner of the room, he noted with mild surprise that Enjolras was wearing a green waistcoat. It looked somewhat like one Grantaire had worn earlier in the week, though that was surely a coincidence. By the time Joly had given Bossuet another full mug -- and Enjolras had reached out, carefully, to brush a smear of dirt off Grantaire's chin -- Bossuet had forgotten all about it.


End file.
